


I Love the Passing of Time

by ItsJustaDressDummy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Asanoya Week 2020, Camping, Domestic Fluff, Hospitalization, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, World Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26044723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsJustaDressDummy/pseuds/ItsJustaDressDummy
Summary: Noya rather liked traveling the world. He enjoyed it even more with Asahi at his side, in their brand-new camper that would drive them to the ends of the world. Hopefully.-Written for AsaNoya Week 2020 for the prompt "domestic/home".
Relationships: Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu
Comments: 9
Kudos: 56
Collections: Asanoya Week 2020





	I Love the Passing of Time

Noya licked at his mango-lavender ice cream and watched Guenther work. Together with his friend whose name Noya had immediately forgotten, he examined every nook and cranny of their potential new VW camper. Well, old camper. Very old, like born in the same year as Nakama Yukie old. But its paint gleamed under the sun, and it had a cute bumper that made it look like it had tusks like a boar. 

Asahi came out, wiped his hands on his apron before taking it off. „How long do you think this is gonna take?“

Noya shrugged. „They’ve already looked at the engine, they’re just kind of doing an all-round assessment now or something,“ he replied.

Asahi hummed. Gracefully, he let himself fall onto the bench next to Noya. Less gracefully but lightning-quick, he bent to the side and stole some of Noya’s ice cream. With his tongue. Sinking the tip into the frozen treat, flicking it up and drawing it back into his mouth. Noya shuddered, because he knew _exactly_ what that felt like on his frenulum.

Noya rather liked Germany, Kiel in particular. It was small, but pretty. After all, it had been the Kiel Week with its plethora of white canvassed sailing ships that had inspired him to go into deep sea fishery. Right now, though, what he liked most about it was that he could raise his chin and taste the ice cream in his boyfriend’s mouth without anybody batting an eye. Or at least too much of an eye.

After they parted, Asahi hummed. „Not bad, actually,“ he determined, „But not worth four Euros for a scoop.“

Noya grinned. „So bold you are when your boss is busy on her phone.“

He was not surprised at all when Asahi stole an anxious glance at the owner of the ice cream parlor and his current boss. Snorting, he brushed a hand over Asahi’s pinned back hair.

„Okay,“ Guenther groaned as he rolled out from under the van, „This is a good car. Old, but still good. You could drive far with it, I think. If you take it, maybe you should buy a… the thing, the… the belt. For the engine. In case you need to replace it.“

Asahi’s fingers flew over his phone. „You mean a fan belt?“ he asked.

Guenther shrugged. „If that’s how it is called, yes.“ Noya’s mouth quirked.

„It’s a low price for an old-timer,“ Guenther mused. Then he shouted into the shop, „You could take much more than five thousand, you know?“

Lena, Asahi’s boss, the owner of the ice cream parlor as well as the camper they were considering buying, looked up from her phone. „I don’t need more than five thousand. And I don’t need that hideous car. What devil rode my ex-husband when he bought it, I will never know.“ And yet, she had apparently fought tooth and nail for it in the court. Just to spite him. Must have been a pleasant marriage.

Noya turned to the camper. The paint twinkled at him, like a juicy orange. Or like Asahi, decked out in his orange jersey and shorts under the headlights, ready to take on their next opponent.

„Karasuno orange,“ Asahi said softly next to him, „I like it.“

Their eyes crossed, and Noya wanted to kiss him again. Smiling, Asahi turned to Lena. „We’d like to buy your camper,“ he said.

She smirked, sweating beers already in her hands. „Of course you would,“ she said, and the bottle caps flew.

To his shame, Noya wasn’t sure if he would have ever said anything. He had accepted his crush on Asahi as a sort of lifelong affliction, something he would carry with him wherever he went. He hadn’t been able to outrun it, not in Mombasa, not in Lagos, not in Ottawa. And Noya had made peace with that. If you couldn’t get rid of an unrequited love, you just had to live with it. Nothing to do about it but trudge on.

But then he’d been on his lunch break at that awful burger place in Edinburgh, and why not call Asahi, right? Because that’s what he did, when he had a spare hour or two. So he’d called him, and Asahi hadn’t picked up, although Noya had _seen_ that he was online. It was cool, though, Noya was an understanding friend. For like three minutes, until he’d badgered and bullied Asahi into returning his call.

Noya had been all smiles when he’d tapped the button on his phone. His mouth had opened for one of his signature jovial greetings, but Asahi had blabbered right over it. That he was sorry, but that it was just too hard, seeing him so much, and, and the distance kind of helped, and he’d become better over the years, he swore that he’d become better, but maybe he just, he just needed some time with no contact at all just to get over these ridiculous feelings he had for Noya, and he was sorry, and an awful friend, he’d _tried_ to be so much better, to be a good friend that wasn’t pining for him every day, but it just wasn’t working for some reason, and he’d just need some time, and then he could be the friend that Noya deserved, he really wanted to be his friend, that was all, please, he was sorry, he just wanted to stay friends.

Noya had listened, staring at Asahi’s flushed face through the screen. At minute six of his blubbering apology, he’d thumbed out of the app and looked up flights.

Some minutes later, Asahi had croaked through his earphones, „Nishinoya-San…?“ 

Noya had swiped back into the call. Asahi had just looked at his phone, a hard edge in his eyes. The look of somebody that put everything on the line and already knew that he’d fail miserably. Noya’s heart had hurt seeing that. As if instead of beating, it had just clenched over and over in its previous rhythm. „I’ve never been to the North Pole,“ he’d said, voice high, „I think it would be great, seeing the Aurora and stuff. What, what do you think?“

Asahi’d cleared his throat. „I, yes, I guess it, it would be cool, just-“

„Great. How does two months sound?“

Asahi had buried deeper into his chair. „F-for staying at the North Pole…?“

„No,“ Noya had said, chest bursting, „For you to get your things in order and meet me there.“

It had taken a few seconds for Asahi to respond. „Why, why would I get my things in order…“

„Because we’ll be traveling. Together.“

Noya had stared at his phone. The image of himself in the upper corner had been too small to see his expression, but he’d hoped that his determination came across. From Asahi, there had been only disbelief. Then, a tiny glimmer of hope.

„What, what does that mean.“ His voice had been toneless and so fragile.

Noya hadn’t chickened out often in his life, but in that moment, he did a little. „What do you think it means?“ he’d replied, because he didn’t _know_ what it meant, wasn’t even sure what he was really asking.

Asahi had rubbed the tip of his nose against his hoodie. Noya had known he did that for comfort. Noya had known, because he’d watched him do it countless times over the years.

„Two months sounds good,“ Asahi had said and stood up from his bed.

58 days later, Noya had vibrated out of his skin in the airport of Murmansk. He’d known Asahi was on that plane, that hadn’t been it. It was more, what if this was wrong, what if they didn’t get along at all, had changed too much over the years, in a way that was not so apparent when you saw each other a few weeks every year, but much more when you were together all the time, what if Asahi had a piss kink, like Noya wasn’t one to judge, but it wasn’t really anything he wanted to explore, what if Asahi hated his hair or his clothes, got tired of the sound of his voice, or-

„Hello,“ Asahi had said. The nicest word anyone had ever said to him. Standing in front of Noya, looking like the culmination of everything he ever dreamed of.

Noya hadn’t so much as squeaked. Just wrapped his arms around Asahi, his, maybe his boyfriend, and squeezed before dragging him to their hotel and locking them in their room for three days.

And that had been that.

They prepared. Asahi sewed them pillows and sheets and curtains first. He even used that light reflecting fabric so they could hopefully sleep whenever they needed to. After some research, he even made them a tarpaulin that doubled as an awning, too. Anything that was ever made foldable, they got. Foldable mattress, chairs, a table, a toilet. Anything that Guenther advised them to buy for the car in case of any trouble, they purchased. Germany had a suspiciously rich camping culture, so they could buy any electrical appliances second hand for cheap.

After that, they tackled the big stuff. Dismantling the seats, creating a clean space in the back for them to reconstruct however they wanted. Asahi had the idea to paint the inside of the camper white to make it seem larger. They struck a deal with Guenther’s nameless friend to get his dad to build them a few cupboards for fifty Euros and a few crates of beer. The rest, they did themselves with the help of Facebook groups and camping fanatic sites. And Guenther, God bless Guenther and his strange knowledge on how to build a fucking sink into a car.

Almost four months later, they scrutinized their finished product. „It definitely has character,“ Asahi said. He looked absolutely delicious in his double-breasted cardigan, the tallest snack Noya had ever seen.

„That’s a nice way of saying it looks like shit,“ Noya commented.

Maybe it did look a little like shit? The dark wood of the cupboards looked cool, but the ancient carpet was horrendous, even Noya could see that. The sink worked, kind of, shaking and spurting in its fixture like a crooked fountain. But the space was clean, and Noya rather liked the tiny flower beds along the windows where they were planning to grow some food. The pillows added a splash of color, the desk lamps they’d mounted over the cupboards gave off a warm glow. Because Asahi was a big sap, he’d printed and framed the first picture they had taken together as a couple, capturing them as smiling icicles on the icebreaker they’d hopped on at Murmansk. It hung on the cupboard next to their bed, affixed with gaffer tape and hope. Even the cheesy fairy lights Asahi had glued over their bed were nice.

So actually, Noya thought that it looked quite homey, if a little cutesy and thrown together, and how dare Asahi say-

Asahi laughed. „No, it’s not,“ he explained, „It means it looks unique, special. Like a one of a kind deal.“ Asahi turned to him, eyes shining.

Oh. Noya was just getting used to the way that Asahi said one thing but actually meant two. Today, he kind of felt that he got his message, so he took his hand.

„So, Hamburg tomorrow?“ he asked his boyfriend. His _boyfriend_.

„Hamburg tomorrow,“ Asahi agreed.

Of course, they didn’t stop there. They drove to the east, up to Berlin, over the border to Danzig, then Kaunas, Riga, Pskow. That was as far north as they could go while the days got shorter. Their brand-new fan heater appeared to be worth its money, but the winterproof wheels of the camper struggled through the deeper snow. More than once they had to shovel themselves out of a snowdrift that had built around their car while they slept.

One night, though, their state-of-the-art fan heater gave up on them. Just coughed a little and went out. So they bundled themselves up in their blanket and the sweaters Asahi had knitted for them. Noya sat in Asahi’s lap, his back burning against the warm water bottle they had jammed between them. They watched the snow falling outside. The treetops were completely submerged in the white haze. Sometimes, a fir branch got jostled by the wind so much that it shook the snow right off of it. It was covered again only a few minutes later.

Asahi pulled his head down. The tip of his nose was cold against the shell of Noya’s ear. Honestly, he could never decide what he loved most about being embraced by Asahi. The incredible warmth he could melt right into or his big arms wrapping him up so tight.

„Dying like this wouldn’t be so bad,“ Asahi whispered. Noya should have laughed. He should have totally laughed, because wow, was that dramatic. And he would have definitely cackled so loud the windows broke if he hadn’t been thinking the exact same thing, that going out like this, all quiet and tightly woven together, would actually be okay. So instead of making fun of Asahi like he deserved, he made love to him, taking him deep under a pile of knitwear and not letting him go until the morning.

After getting their stupid fan heater repaired, they drove south. It was probably a good thing, because Noya was entirely incapable of keeping his hands off of Asahi for more than an hour and had already incurred the suspicion of the bakery lady. Slowly but surely, they made their way through Minsk and Riwne and Chernivtsi. Asahi never missed an opportunity to snap pictures of the Russian Orthodox churches they encountered. His sketchbook was full to bursting with studies of ikons and colored window tiles. Also with sketches of Noya, but there was a high chance of Noya spontaneously combusting if he looked at those for too long, so he tried not to.

In Bukarest, they were low on money as they had predicted. They found a job peeling potatoes and washing dishes at a tourist restaurant. Their van was parked inside the backyard, a refreshingly short commute. With their fan heater and newly purchased thermal blanket for dogs that worked just as well on humans, they were doing alright in the January cold. That didn’t keep their head chef from talking them into spending most nights at his house. Alexandru was a rough guy with hands as big as shovels. He taught Noya to cook sarmale and how to pickle their own cabbage. He took them to see a Russian ballet and cried from start to finish while Asahi just used the opportunity to hold Noya’s hand. When they left in March, he waved at them and told them to never come back.

They drove over Sofia to Kosovo, where they met a very friendly goat and its very unfriendly owners that chased them off their property with an _axe_. After a night spent in Peja, they drove through Montenegro to Split. The Adriatic Sea was the perfect place to spend their summer. Not only because of its beauty, but because they earned some good money as guides for Japanese tourists. So they stayed there. Noya got them a fishing net they hung over most of the van’s ceiling. It proved to be an excellent storage space for shit they didn’t need every day, and he never missed an opportunity to point out to Asahi what a genius idea it had been. Their collection of snapshots spread from one cupboard to two. They looked especially fetching under the glow of their new overhead lamp. A fucking stuffed bear with a light bulb in its mouth. They had spotted the thing in an antique store and hadn’t stopped laughing about it since. 

In September, they drove along the coast to Italy. Noya rather liked it there. He had made quite a few friends, including Giacomo from Verona who loved hosting them and immediately offered them his weed. A little stoned, they were introduced to Giacomo’s advertisement for his mayoral race. It was literally just him strumming on his guitar and singing about all the changes he wanted to implement with a slideshow of personal photos. For some reason, there were a lot of sheep in those pictures. Asahi almost ruptured his spleen with how hard he had to suppress his laughter. That night, Noya sank into him while humming a few bars of the song and made Asahi cum giggling and moaning.

They had a short, but eventful stay in Milan where they ran into one of Asahi’s university classmates. Who Noya recognized from the sparse pictures he’d seen as Asahi’s _ex_. Everybody except for the interloper felt a little awkward, but they still trotted through the Armani/Silos more or less as a group. As it turned out, the douche was very much interested in getting back together with Asahi, if the way he tried to wriggle his gross tongue into his mouth while Noya took a piss was any indication.

Noya had just rounded the corner when he saw them. The creeper sidling up to him from behind, touching Asahi’s shoulder gently so he’d turn around. Noya was already running when the bastard leant in. In four seconds, he dragged forth anything he’d ever learnt about fistfights, because that was obviously what was going to happen, he’d fucking slam his fist into the asshole’s face at full speed. But Asahi had other ideas. He shoved the scumbag so hard he crashed into a mannequin with a blood-red dress, slid over the tiles and took another three mannequins down. An alarm blared to life. Asahi whirled around, saw Noya and started running. They high tailed it out of the museum, which was a miracle in itself, but then they didn’t even get caught when Asahi rubbed them off in a small alley, looming over Noya, kissing every inch of his face and whispering his name over and over. Noya came so hard he couldn’t speak.

After Milan, they took a ferry to Corsica. They didn’t stay for long, since the food was a bit of a disappointment. In Sardinia, they did an excursion to some abandoned salines on horseback. Noya’s muscles ached for days after while Asahi won the worst boyfriend award for teasing Noya about his bowlegged walk. Naturally, they hopped on to another ferry to Sicily where they got thrown out of a bar because Noya said Italian coffee was shit, and then on another one to Malta. In San Pawl, Noya taught Asahi how to sail. If anybody would have asked him, he’d have said it went smoothly, although Asahi would have probably said it was a shit show, considering that Noya had so little control over the boat that Asahi fell off of it twice. 

Since the ferry to Sicily was the only one that existed, they went back on it to Italy and drove up to Salerno. From there, they took a ferry to Tel-Aviv. They visited the carmel market, where Asahi could hardly keep Noya from buying a year’s worth of olives, they were _that_ fucking good. He did let himself be talked into buying a fledgling olive tree, though. Solely for the aesthetic, as Asahi insisted. It did look quite beautiful sprouting next to their garlic.

They drove to Egypt, saw the Giza pyramids and befriended too many camels. In an underground gay bar, Noya got so drunk he asked Asahi to marry him at least seven times, and those were only the times he could remember. Who knew how many times he’d _actually_ asked. Asahi acted suspiciously normal the next day. No weird looks, no awkward small talk. Just pumping Noya full of water and electrolytes and patting his head. Did that mean he’d also blacked out a little and couldn’t remember? Noya didn’t think he did, since he was the one to haul him to their camper and nurse him through his hangover, so… maybe he just didn’t want to marry Noya and was trying to sweep his gazillion marriage proposals under the rug? Noya wasn’t even sure whether _he_ wanted to marry Asahi. Well, he kind of, sort of did, but they’d only been together for a year. Still, the possibility that Asahi might _not_ want to was… well, it was kinda…

They drove further south along the Nile to Lake Nasser. There was almost no vegetation, the shoreline mostly an assembly of jagged stones. They both found their inner poet, though, and agreed that it was beautiful in its roughness. Noya swore up and down and left and right that the Sudan border patrol had fluttered his eyes at Asahi, but his boyfriend just told him to shut up with a wild look. The sight of guns, especially big guns, kind of rattled Asahi. It might have been one of the reasons why they didn’t stay that long in Kartoum. The main reason was that they were getting really sick of the desert.

They had their first fight over where to go next. Neither South Sudan nor Ethiopia were particularly safe places, but hey, not a lot of places on this earth were safe for them. Honestly, Noya just wanted to flip a coin, because why should you even choose if both of your choices would yield similar results? But of course, Asahi wanted to do some research first and then decide. After five days, Noya got a little stir crazy. After seven days, they snapped at each other. After nine days, Noya told him just to pick one, just pick _one_. But Asahi refused, of course, because he was a stubborn mule when he was pissed. So Noya told him that he was regretting ever asking Asahi to join him and that he should have just stayed home if he was still that much of a coward.

Asahi hadn’t even opened his mouth. That should have been a clue, really. Because some things you say when you are friends and they make you angry, and some things you say when you are lovers and they make you sad. But Noya needed to have shit spelled out for him sometimes, so first he had to wake up in the middle of the night. Then he had to realize that Asahi was outside of their van, whispering to Suga on the phone about how he wasn’t sure if Noya felt the same way about him as he felt about Noya, that, that maybe he hadn’t been thinking straight. And then Noya thought that… maybe he’d said something pretty stupid.

The next day, Asahi told him that they were driving to Ethiopia. They didn’t talk. Asahi drove them through the Sudan wilderness, and Noya composed his apology in the passenger seat. He could basically hear the words festering in Asahi’s brain with every second. Like he could ever regret _this_ , having Asahi here with him. At the most a few meters away and at the least pressed tight right next to him. After blinking at Asahi’s sleeping form on his spare futon in Tokio and thinking that this was the closest to him he would ever get in this life. So, so he needed to get that one right, for Asahi to understand that Noya would rather shoot himself than let this go.

After Sinjah, Asahi asked him to take over the wheel for a bit. They switched, and if Noya hadn’t kept stealing glances at him, he probably wouldn’t have noticed. The way Asahi hunched in his seat, how he didn’t stop sweating. 

„You okay?“ he asked after watching him convulse as they drove over a pothole.

„Yes,“ Asahi replied immediately, but then, „I don’t know. My stomach kinda hurts.“

Noya frowned. „Since when?“

A pause. „Yesterday evening, I think.“

Noya hummed, thought about making a joke about bad gas, but decided against it. „Try to drink some water, let me know when it gets worse, okay?“

But Asahi didn’t need to tell him. Noya saw it all by himself. He drove, looked up the next hospital on his phone with shaking fingers while Asahi dug his nails so hard into the armrest that he left scratches behind. His other arm was slung around his stomach, pressing into it, holding it. „I, I think with stuff like that you have to keep straight, because, because of muscles and shit,“ Noya stammered. Asahi didn’t even say anything and that fucking scared the shit out of Noya, he was just squirming there, sweating and trembling and clenching his jaw shut, and of course the next fucking hospital was still 30 minutes away in Ad-Damazin, and their gas was getting low, so they might make it to the hospital or they might not, and then what would they do, what would they fucking do?

It was, it was not an option, not reaching the hospital was not an option, so Noya drove, and Asahi was quiet. His phone lead him to the Chinese hospital in Ad-Damazin, and Noya would have driven their camper right through the doors if he could have. Instead, he parked in front of the doors and ran around their car, yanked on the passenger seat door. He wanted to burst into tears when he saw Asahi’s chalk-white face, his sweat soaked shirt. He wrapped Asahi’s arm around his shoulders, whispered, „Come on, come on,“ as he pulled him out of the van. But Asahi couldn’t hold his own weight and crashed down on him. He screamed. Noya had never heard anybody scream in pain before, but the sound wormed deep into his brain and stayed with him for the rest of his life.

Suddenly, a pair of arms lifted Asahi from him. Noya looked up, saw three nurses carry Asahi up the stairs. A doctor stood in the door’s threshold. Noya didn’t even let her start, just babbled at her about stomach and pain and probably no food, since they had eaten the same stuff all the time, and, just a lot of pain, really too much pain.

„Okay,“ she said simply, „Please park your car in the visitor’s parking lot and vacate the entrance.“ And then she was gone.

So Noya got into their camper and followed the signs for the parking lot.

One hour later of cowering in the waiting room, a nurse informed him that Asahi had appendicitis and that his appendix was close to rupturing. They were preparing him for surgery now and had he filled out the patient admission form? Noya handed it to her.

He stared at his hand. Then he took out his phone, opened his browser. A hole. Bacteria ripping right through his gut, making him burn and bleed, and then, and then... A hole, in his insides. Just like that. Maybe not now, though, she, she’d said it was close to rupturing, not, it hadn’t ruptured yet.

Noya typed, and it was right there, at the top of his Google search. Ten percent. Ten percent of patients died from a ruptured appendix, even with an operation. There was a one in ten chance that Asahi could die from this. If there were ten universes in which Asahi was heading into surgery, he would die in one of them. Just like that. From one moment to the next.

Noya was already crying when his mom picked up the call.

Another hour later, Noya was staring with moist eyes at Asahi’s phone clutched in his hand. The contact name just read ‚mother‘. He knew that Asahi wasn’t on good terms with his parents, but they would still probably want to know if their son was potentially dying in a hospital in Sudan, right? Informing them was just the responsible thing to do. Probably.

The phone rang. Noya hadn’t even checked what time it was in Japan, he’d just called his mom earlier, and she’d just answered, but maybe-

„What do you want?“

Noya swallowed. „Azumane-San? This is, this is Nishinoya Yuu.“

A breath on the other end of the line. „Asahi better be dead or dying for you to call me from his number.“

 _Don’t think about it, just talk, just tell her_. „He, he might be. We’re in a hospital in Sudan, and-“

„Good.“ And then she hung up.

Noya lowered Asahi’s phone. _Good_. Her son was in pain, fucking excruciating pain with a sense of impending fucking doom, according to the internet. And… _Good_.

How, really? How could you not give one single shit that your son’s insides got cut up halfway across the globe? How could you be so much of a homophobic piece of trash that you just didn’t fucking care? That, that you’d be okay with it if he died? Asahi’s phone creaked in his hand. There were other numbers, just ‚father‘, ‚grandmother‘. But apparently Asahi had walked away from his family with good reason. Noya unclenched his trembling hand, and then he called Daichi.

Another hour later, Noya had dried tear tracks on his face and read ever entry in the internet’s database about recovery from appendectomy. That had been Suga’s advise, to look up how to take care of Asahi, to keep pushing forward. Noya was actually good at that. At going forward, moving when others couldn’t. He just watched a video on what to cook for somebody on a bland diet when the doctor approached him. After she told him that Asahi was doing well so far, Noya couldn’t listen to much more. She was unfazed when he started crying again. The only thing Noya wanted was to see him, just once, ten minutes, just, just ten. Exhausted, she nodded.

Noya could see that they had cleaned him up a little. When he brushed his still trembling hand through Asahi’s hair, his face was dry, but still deathly pale. Noya’s lip wobbled again. It could be worse. It could be so much worse, Noya told himself when he lifted the blanket and looked at the white gauze taped over the right side of Asahi’s stomach. There could be a heart monitor, or a respirator, or a blood transfusion. Instead, there was a bandaged stomach and artificial nutrition. But the thing was that Asahi shouldn’t be in pain, at all, never ever, so it, it was just unacceptable, something that shouldn’t be, an impossible bend in the universe.

He touched Asahi’s jaw, leant in. Just a small one, on his cheek, because it was night, and the other patients were snoring in their beds. And because Noya needed to, desperately. Asahi’s skin felt very warm, but not feverish under his lips. It had been six days since the last time Noya had kissed Asahi, how could it have been six days? How could he have let that happen? There should never be a day that went by with Asahi left unkissed. Asahi loved kisses, at any time, small and big and hard and soft, on his ear and in his hair and in his palm, so he should be kissed every day and that should be Noya’s goal from now on, really, to kiss Asahi every single day for as long as he lived.

Footsteps. Noya jerked back in his chair. He’d gotten a little bit carried away with the surrounding darkness, they, they could get arrested for stuff like this here. A nurse rounded the curtain, looked at Noya. She tapped her wrist. Noya didn’t move. Couldn’t move. She tapped her wrist again. Noya shook his head, completely drained. After a look, she grumbled, „Until the end of my shift.“ and left.

Noya couldn’t even be grateful, just laid his head down next to Asahi’s shoulder.

The next thing he felt was Asahi’s fingertip tracing the path of his dried tears down his cheek. Noya woke up, raised his head, stared up at him. He was awake, eyes open, breathing, looking at Noya, and then smiling, that soft curl of his lips that had become Noya’s everything, his entire fucking world in one gesture.

Noya crawled over him and kissed his lips. They were dry and warm, just a tiny bit of pressure to kiss him back. Day one.

When he pulled away, he tried to stay as close as this country’s law allowed. Asahi cleared his throat, rasped, „’m sorry.“

„For what?“ Noya whispered.

„My bitchy appendix.“

Noya’s giggle was way too loud and hysterical, but it still felt good somehow. „It was a bit of an attention whore, I guess,“ he hissed back. Asahi’s smile grew into a grin, and it just blustered out of Noya, just, „It was not true, like at all, doing this with you was the fucking most brilliant idea I ever had, and I would _never_ not want you here with me, like I couldn’t even picture that anymore, being without you, I, I don’t know what I’d have done, if, if, if-“ He hiccuped. „I mean, you knew that I love you, like, I even tried those disgusting beans with you although I knew they tasted like barf-“

„Are you going… to propose to me again?“ Asahi breathed.

Noya’s brain screeched to a halt. Quietly, he asked, „How… how many times did I…“

„Seventeen…“

Oh. Noya blushed a tiny bit. That, that was ten times more often than he even remembered.

Asahi’s eyes were halfway hidden behind his eyelids, but they still glowed like embers. „You know… I said yes every time…“

A sound came out of Noya, a bit sobbing, a bit moaning, raw and pure emotion. Of course Asahi did. Say yes all Goddamn seventeen times he’d asked, because Asahi was simply wonderful. „I, I didn’t remember,“ he forced out around the heart in his mouth.

Seventeen questions and seventeen times yes. 

„I… didn’t want to say anything, because you…. you didn’t say anything, after….“ Asahi whispered, his fingers soft on Noya’s face.

„We gotta stop with that,“ Noya breathed, „Like this not saying anything because the other isn’t, like, like that’s not sound communication at all…“

Asahi nodded. „Didn’t get us far in high school…“

Noya’s hand cramped a little on Asahi’s shoulder, but he couldn’t let go of him. „So, so you will, right? Like, you already said… so you will. Right?“

Asahi’s lips curled. „Yeah… I’ll marry you…“

Noya could hardly think straight. He peeped, „And, and no take-backs, we don’t do take-backs in this household.“ 

Asahi held out his hand. As Noya shook it, he solemnly agreed, „No take-backs…“

Noya laid his other hand over Asahi’s, bent over it and kissed his knuckles, his entire body throbbing along with the beat of his heart.

When the nurse came to collect him at the end of her shift, Asahi had fallen asleep and Noya was squeezing his hand under the blanket.

Three days later, Asahi got discharged from the hospital. Noya considered to do the hospital version of dining and dashing when he saw their bill, but just got out his credit card and paid. Asahi had an overseas health insurance, and his mom said that she would cover the rest, so… they would probably be okay.

For the next few days, Asahi didn’t do much but lie in their bed in the back of the car. Because that got boring quickly, he’d read to Noya. From his phone, news articles and travel blogs, science-fiction stories and shitty poetry. When he was quiet, he was usually sketching. Noya didn’t think much of it, so it hit him a bit hard when Asahi showed him the sketches he’d done for their wedding attire and asked Noya’s opinion on jackets. It took a lot of self-control not to start bawling again. They agreed that wherever they were going to do it, it was probably going to be hot, so no jackets.

Since there wasn’t much they could do, Noya just drove. They made it through Ethiopia to Mogadishu and Mombasa. For a short while, they stayed there, the camper parked right in front of the beach. It was breathtaking, especially during dusk with the waves shimmering and the palm branches rustling. They drove along the coast to Tanzania, waved from their van to Sansibar as they passed it. Mosambik’s coast was endless, as were Asahi’s wedding sketches he pinned on every available surface in their camper. Just outside Maputo, Noya removed Asahi’s stitches. The doctor had given them clear instructions, but it took Noya like six attempts and Asahi removing the first stitch by himself to show him that no, it didn’t really hurt and yes, he could just pull at them. Fives minutes later, the stitches were out and Asahi was all over Noya. Pressing him down into the sand, telling him how Noya should better fuck him hard now for making him wait so long. Noya did, or at least he tried, because sitting on Asahi’s big cock was delicious any day of the week, but taking it after almost three weeks of no action except hand jobs had him _weak_. They went off like firecrackers. It reminded Noya so much of Murmansk that he had to laugh afterwards.

Completely stitch-free, Asahi was allowed behind the wheel again and drove them to Durban and down all the way to Cape Town. They found a freighter company that would take them across the South Atlantic. For like 6000 South African rand per day. It was March, so tourism season wasn’t too far off. Asahi found a job in a coffee shop and Noya as a tourist guide again. On every tour, he would lead his group into the shop for a break and flirt outrageously with Asahi. The way he’d blush every single time with that gleam in his eyes was what got Noya through his afternoons.

On one of their off days, they went to the Kirstenbosch Gardens and talked about their wedding. Among the swarms of butterflies in Table Mountain, they agreed it would be simple. Just the two of them, of course. They would cook to the best of their abilities and Asahi would get them some fancy wine somewhere. They would wear whatever Asahi sewed for them. Noya would get them some rings, and they would make a promise. Whatever they wanted, whatever they felt was right. Something true, from one to the other.

Noya liked that idea, a lot. He liked the privacy, the intimacy. Honestly, he couldn’t fucking wait for it.

It took them some time to get the money for the freighter and their additional plans. Asahi finalized his designs for their outfits and purchased everything he needed, including a second hand sewing machine, before they left. The voyage across the Atlantic was fortunately brief. Asahi spent it mostly sewing, while Noya acted like a spoiled brat for his attention until Asahi would shove him back into their sheets and repay him handsomely for his provocations. After ten days, they arrived in Santos. They stayed a few days in Sao Paulo, where Noya went on a hunt for rings. Most of the stuff he found, though, was either too expensive or not really their thing. There was something tacky about rings, Noya thought. Too in your face, somehow. He drove them to Rio de Janeiro and bullied Asahi into an excellent rendition of Cristo Redentor. All the other tourists agreed on its excellency. Noya only stopped laughing about it when Asahi slid his whole cock into his mouth in one go.

On their way to Brasilia, Asahi said that he wanted to get married in Costa Rica. No real reason, just that it looked and sounded nice. And indeed it did. Getting married in Costa Rica, with maybe a toucan or two somewhere. So they decided not to return to the coastline, but to try to drive as straight as they cold through Brazil. Which proved to be impossible, so they drove alongside the western border to Comodoro, Porto Velho and up to Manaus. Noya’s search for rings remained fruitless, while Asahi was sewing together the most intrinsically designed clothes. So far, he hadn’t let Noya peer at what exactly he had come up with, but Noya could already tell that even the smallest stitch had been planned in minute detail. Which made Noya kind of the shit boyfriend at the moment.

But then Noya saw a woman with beautiful turquoise earrings in Boa Vista and said, „Why don’t we get piercings instead of rings?“

Really, he could see it. Something simple, small in Asahi’s earlobe. Unobtrusive, but elegant. And Noya would see them every time he looked at him. When Asahi looked at Noya’s ear and smiled, he already knew he’d won him over.

They got their ears pierced in Puerto La Cruz. Noya didn’t even flinch, but neither did Asahi, so they were both winners. Noya still didn’t have any rings, but at least now he could search for something that he thought was actually kinda nice.

He was able to look for the most perfect wedding earrings for four days. Then their camper broke down in Caracas.

The mechanics told them it was dead. Completely. Except for building in a new engine, there wasn’t anything they could do. Not even their pre-purchased fan belt would help. And where the fuck would they get an engine for a Volkswagen T2b from 1979 in Venezuela? Which meant that, that…

Numbly, Noya stared on the map on his phone. They were so _close_. Obviously, they couldn’t have driven through the National Park on Panama’s border, but they could have taken a ferry, probably. Somewhere in somebody’s boat, and then they could have driven somewhere close to Jaco. And then on the beach, they, they could have…

And what would they do with it now? The, the van. The van that wasn’t just a van, but was wallpapered with pictures of them, with pictures of their old friends and new friends, with recipes they had picked up and the Pokémon stickers from that one kid in South Africa. The car that housed their failed and successful attempts at gardening. That had that fucked up rug and Noya’s impossible to use, handblown vase, their sink that was now solely a fountain. That had their handprints and fingerprints all over it, bits of their hair and skin. That camper _smelled_ like them. Like the two of them. Together.

Asahi returned from his call and put a hand on Noya’s shoulder. The expression on his face must have been truly devastated, because the shoulder pat turned into a hug quicker than Noya could comprehend.

„You had your first anal orgasm in that car,“ Noya mumbled against Asahi’s shirt, „No hands.“

Asahi’s sputter made him feel a little better. „I, yes, I, I remember.“

Noya pulled away, looked up at his fiancé. His _fiancé_. „Asahi, what now?“ he asked.

„I don’t know, but the call… Yuu, my grandma died.“

There was no capacity in Noya’s brain left to process that. „Oh.“

Asahi shrugged his shoulders. „She hated me. I mean, she hated everybody, but most of all my mom.“

„I… what? How is your family so messed up and you’re so amazing?“

Asahi flushed. That also made Noya feel a little better. „Well, I don’t know, but I guess… she wanted to get one over on my mom? Apparently, she left me the house instead of her.“

It took Noya a few seconds. „Ooh la la, Home Owner-San!“ he exclaimed, „Got myself a rich bitch husband! Mom’s gonna be so proud.“ Asahi grinned down at him while he fluttered his eyelashes. „But wait, where is the house? And is your mother totally going to contest the inheritance?“

„I don’t know,“ Asahi replied, „The notary said she hung up the phone as soon as she heard it was about my grandma, so…“

Huh, seemed to be her modus operandi. „So…“

Asahi stepped closer. „We could take a break there. Get the van repaired somewhere, earn some money. And then we come back here, exactly here. And we drive to Costa Rica.“

Noya looked at the car. Their camper. Stuffed to the brim with them, the embodiment of both of their lives, moving on four wheels and wrapped in Karasuno orange. Standing next to them in the sand while they sat on their rickety folding chairs decked out in fancy clothes. The palm leaves swaying, waves rushing. Asahi looking at him with that warmth that put any bonfire to shame, opening his mouth to promise Noya something.

Noya took Asahi’s hand and held it tight. „Sounds like a plan.“

[](https://ibb.co/tD6LQ9Q)

**Author's Note:**

> Like everything I try to write, this ran away from me and now it's already the end of AsaNoya week. Shoot. Still three more prompts to go, though, looking forward to those. :)  
> Another title inspired by a song, This Must Be the Place, by the Talking Heads (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o9gK2fOq4MY). If any song in this world embodies the word 'home', it's this one. Thank you so much for reading, hopefully see you soon!!
> 
> Also, would you look at that incredibly cute picture found and Asanoya improved by @ImmaDelicious9! Such an amazing idea and wonderful surprise! Thank you so much!!!


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